


The Dragon and the Wolf

by dozmuffinxc



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it wasn't rape - what if it was love? A series of one-shots centered around Rhaegar and Lyanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under a Dornish Moon

**Author's Note:**

> These are the result of prompts from some lovely anons over on Tumblr. If I continue to get prompts, I'll write more one-shots! You can find me @dozmuffinxc if you're interested in submitting an idea!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested some Rhaegar/Lyanna with the prompt "heaven." I took that prompt rather loosely and created this tiny thing.

Lyanna rests her cheek against the cool stone of a marble archway, watching the sun set beyond the sand dunes. The last shimmer of the day’s heat dances on the horizon, sending effervescent ripples through the thick Dornish air. The sky turns first a rich ochre, then scarlet, and finally begins to settle into deeper shades of purple as night sets in and the stars make their presence in the heavens known.

She doesn’t realize how deeply she’s fallen into her own thoughts until she feels the weight of his hand at her back and the whisper of his breath on her neck. He curls one arm around her waist and rests his head on her shoulder, watching the sunset at her side in silence until the only light that remains is the flickering light of torches and the milky light of a crescent moon.

Rhaegar turns her around gently so that they stand face-to-face, and slender fingers trace the curve of her cheek where the tracks of tears catch the firelight. 

“You’ve been crying,” he says, his light brows furrowing with concern and dismay.

Lyanna lowers her eyes.

“I was thinking of home,” she admits, fresh tears springing into her eyes. She starts to wipe them away but Rhaegar catches chin and lifts her face so that she has no choice but to meet his violet gaze.

“Do not hide your feelings,” he says, “not from me. Dorne is the safest place for you – for _us_ – now, but we will not stay here forever.”

She closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of him, the smell of roses and smoke calming her until she feels sure that she can return his gaze without tears.

“For my part,” he continues, leaning forward so that his pale hair curtains the space between them, “there is no home for me if you are not there. My love…”

Lyanna stops his words with a kiss, full and passionate, and when their lips part, it is the glimmer of starlight that makes her eyes dance, not tears.


	2. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon on Tumblr requested an AU where Rhaegar wins the war only to find that Lyanna is [still] dead. This is what happened!

The field of battle stretched for miles in every direction, still and quiet save for the groans of the injured and the wet slice of metal through flesh as the remaining soldiers dispensed their mercy to the dying. It had been a devastating last stand, fought beneath the draining heat of an unnaturally hot summer day, and the losses on both sides had been staggering. It was difficult to tell one felled soldier from another, their armor coated in gore and their coats of arm dented and scorched beyond recognition, but the singed flag flying at his side announced the victor: the Dragon’s forces had won the day.

Robert Baratheon’s war hammer lay at Rhaegar’s feet, the blood of the would-be-usurper spattered across the three-headed dragon wrought on his breast plate. It had been a near thing: Baratheon had been a fierce fighter, riding into the fray heedless of his own safety with the light of the Seven Hells in his eyes. In the end, though, the Valyrian steel of Rhaegar’s sword had found a gap below the larger man’s gorget as he lifted his head to parry a blow.

  
There was life in the felled man yet. As his soldiers stalked among the wounded to retrieve their fallen comrades, Rhaegar knelt next to his foe and lifted the visor of the other man’s helmet so that he might look into the eyes of the man who would challenge his right to both his throne and his love.

  
Thick, clotting blood matted the young lord’s beard as he struggled to choke out a final word, and Rhaegar found himself unconsciously bending his head to listen.

  
“L-l-lyanna,” he gasped, and his grey eyes widened as though he could see something just beyond Rhaegar’s shoulder that both awed and terrified him.

  
White hot rage gripped Rhaegar’s heart. To hear the name of his beloved on the traitor’s lips was too much, and before he quite knew what he was doing, Rhaegar found his dagger in his hand. One quick, upward cut and the rebellion was over.

  
The sound of an approaching rider picking his way among the corpses called Rhaegar back to the present. The battle might be over, he thought, but matters still stood badly in the kingdoms and there were rebellions to the north that would need dealing with. But surely he would have one night of peace to celebrate his victory and feast his men?

  
“My lord.”

  
The messenger was a young lad, barely old enough to be a proper squire, and his eyes as he scanned the battlefield were as large as dinner plates. Still, he had clearly ridden a long way to deliver the sealed scroll that he now extended to the prince, the message clearly of such import that its delivery had not been entrusted to a raven.

  
Rhaegar’s heart raced as he recognized the wolf ensign pressed into the wax of the seal. Tearing at the laces on his gauntlets, he knew a heady moment of elation as the possibilities of the letter’s contents jostled for precedence in his thoughts. She could come to him now, spend the remaining days of her pregnancy in King’s Landing among the finest maesters in the land. He would see that she wanted for nothing, and when their child was born, he would make sure that all of Westeros knew its name.

  
The letter was not written in Lyanna’s hand. Rhaegar had to read it through twice before he could make sense of the small, cramped letters. When he did, the finality of the words cut his legs out from under him and drove the breath right from his lungs. The blood-soaked grass rose up to meet him as all the strength left his limbs and he curled in on himself, the letter crumpled in his fist.

  
It was a broken man who was lifted onto the shoulders of his men that day and borne back to camp to receive a victor’s welcome. Rhaegar did not emerge from his tent for the feast that night, and by the time the troops had made the long march back to King’s Landing, their prince was barely a specter of the proud, handsome warrior who had led his forces against the enemy with the light of dragon fire in his eyes.

No matter who had won the war, the reign of the dragon ended when the wolf lay down her life for her cub.


End file.
